


gopher guts

by aesoprock



Category: South Park
Genre: (from like chapter 3 and on), Alcoholic Stan Marsh, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Stan Marsh, Carcasses, Cuddling, Depressed Stan Marsh, Depression, Depressive Episode, Disturbing Themes, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Macabre, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, No Sex, No Smut, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Divorce, Rehabilitation, fruit flies - Freeform, mold, stan is needy, stan marsh/wendy testaburger (divorced), this fic is really gross and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesoprock/pseuds/aesoprock
Summary: Wendy divorces Stan, sending him into a downward spiral. He spends two months in and out of consciousness, before the death of an old friend wakes him up and makes him realize how disgusting, filthy, and miserable he is.Unfortunately, Kyle comes gets to witness him at his absolute worst.(Inspired by the song Gopher Guts by Aesop Rock)
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski & Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

The buzzing of fruit flies was starting to drive him crazy.

Stan stood up, disoriented. He couldn’t sleep anymore, opting to take twenty minute power naps on the couch instead of climbing the stairs and sleeping in his bed. Stan never went upstairs anymore. That was where she was.

Not literally, of course. Just the memories of her. Wendy wasn’t upstairs- she was probably in another man’s house, talking about what a piece of shit Stan was and why she divorced him. He reached up and scratched his chin, feeling his pointy, greasy stubble. How long had it been since he last shaved?

Stan wanted coffee.

He approached the kitchen, wondering what day it was. Tuesday? It had been weeks since he was fired from work, maybe even months. There was no need to keep track of the days anymore. Tuesday didn’t have meaning. Neither did Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday. He found the coffee pot, lifted it, and poured it into a nearby cup, not bothering to check if it were clean or not.

Stan could see the coffee from the side of the glass pot, though. The top of the liquid was covered in a thick sheet of mold, green and blue spores swishing back and forth as the liquid in the pot moved.

Not thirsty anymore, Stan left the kitchen. Something told him that pot of coffee was the last thing Wendy made before leaving him. Had it really been that long? Had the coffee pot been left there for weeks, maybe even months, collecting spores? Stan considered the fact that he could be imagining things, from insomnia. Stephen King wrote a whole book about it. He wasn’t crazy. He just needed sleep.

Deep down, though, he knew he was wrong. He was making excuses for his own lazy, self-destructive behavior. Wendy  _ had  _ made that coffee, and he  _ had  _ left it there for months. Maybe out of negligence, maybe out of pure denial to face the fact that she was gone. Even if he cleaned up his act… she wouldn’t listen to him, and she wouldn’t come back. And why should she? Stan knew he was worthless. His own alcohol addiction had driven her to leave. His  _ own  _ actions. Time and time again, he came home drunk, and even when Wendy scolded him the next day, he swore up and down he would try to do better. He would go to the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, get himself clean, never drink or do drugs again.

Except it doesn’t always work like that.

Was addiction a disease, or was he the true root of the problem, blatantly refusing to better himself?

Stan returned to the couch, plopping down on it and feeling something hard underneath his ass. He scooted over and saw that it was his phone.

Right. That fucking thing. He picked it up and tried to turn it on, only to find that it was dead. Stan wasn’t even sure where his charger was anymore. He set it down on his coffee table, which was covered in beer cans, in tequila bottles, in half-full wine glasses. 

_ She should’ve known this would happen to me when she left. _

Stan decided not to expand on that thought. He stood up again and searched for his phone charger, finding one plugged into the wall. He brought his phone over and connected it, staring at the ghost-white Apple logo as it lit up. If anyone had tried talking to him in the past month or so, he wouldn’t have known about it. 

Once his phone charged enough for him to use it, he was flooded with notifications. Missed phone calls from his mother, his father, his older sister, Kenny McCormick from high school… and Kyle.

No Wendy. Not even Bebe had sent him a text message to ask how he was doing.

Stan decided that his mother was the most important of the bunch. He opened her text messages.

_ July 5th, 12:09 PM _

_ Mom: It was nice of you and Wendy to come down here for the 4th! _

_ September 15th, 1:22 PM _

_ Mom: Call Shelly, honey. She’s worried about you. Wendy called this morning and told us everything. _

_ September 28th, 7:59 AM _

_ Mom: Surprised that you haven’t called us. Hope you’re not out drinking all the time. Get on those AA meetings. You’ll find a new girl. You’re still young, only 22!! You have a whole life ahead of you _

Blinking, Stan read the date at the top of his phone. October 18th. His birthday was tomorrow.

That didn’t matter. 

_ October 18th, 11:23 PM _

_ Stan: Hi, Mom. I’m okay. Doing better now.  _

He was lying. Right to his own mother’s face. But he needed to lie in this scenario, he couldn’t just tell her he was doing horrible. She and Randy would come up from Colorado and try to “help” him by giving him a two-hour lecture about how his first mistake in life was going to that party in 10th grade and coming home absolutely hammered.

Stan set his phone back on the coffee table, face-down. Something smelled horrible- no, it didn’t just  _ smell.  _ It  _ reeked _ . He inhaled once, then twice. It wasn’t the alcohol, it was like… rotting meat. Maybe, before Wendy left, she cooked something and left it in the kitchen. That would explain the fruit flies and gnats.

Speaking of fruit flies… he needed to get rid of those.

He looked back at the kitchen, before turning and facing the other parts of his house, which were equally disheveled. Where the hell was he supposed to start with all of this mess? It would take him weeks to clean this up.

Thankfully, he had weeks. He was all alone now, nobody he needed to impress or show off for. Not unless his parents made a surprise visit at his house. Stan didn’t think they would- they probably assumed he was dead by now. Ignoring their texts for over a month and a half. 

Stan stepped into the kitchen, walking around and sniffing, trying to place the smell. Strangely enough, the smell disappeared now that he was out of the living room.

He stepped back into the living room, lifted couch cushions, looked underneath the coffee table, and still couldn’t figure out what the smell was. Stan was starting to get irritated now. He decided to go up the stairs, not even caring if that was where most of his memories with Wendy were. If he was going to get his life together (even he knew that it wasn’t likely- he was living in  _ extreme  _ squalor and filth, and would probably never get the motivation to clean it up,) he needed to find out what that stupid smell was.

At the top of the stairs, he inhaled, and nearly vomited. The smell was much stronger now, and something was telling him there was a dead body. The stench reminded him of middle school, coming home and inhaling the scent of pot roast that his mother had cooked in a crock pot all day.

Pot roast. But with a hint of urine… he knew people shat and pissed themselves when they died, so it wasn’t a huge surprise to him. Something had definitely died up here, and Stan prayed that it wasn’t a person.

His heartbeat sped up. Was it  _ Wendy?  _ Had Wendy killed herself up in here, and Stan had been too drunk off of his ass for a solid month that he had failed to notice?

Stan crept through the hallway, the stench invading his nostrils. He gagged once, but sucked it up. Maybe it was a homeless man that he decided to shelter one night and just… kicked the bucket.

He looked in the bathroom and turned on the light. Somehow, the electricity still worked, which he was grateful for. What he was not grateful for, though, was the stench of stale urine hitting his face. His eyes adjusted to the light and saw heaps of feces lining the bathroom floor- there was even some in the bathtub.

Okay, so the homeless man missed the bowl a couple times. Stan slammed the bathroom door shut and made his way to the bedroom he and Wendy had spent so many nights in, having sex, watching shitty reality TV shows, arguing… 

He pushed open the door and found the source of the smell.

It was Sparky, lying on his bed in the middle of the room.

Stan stepped forward and let out a sob, starting to hyperventilate. He killed Sparky. He fucking  _ killed  _ Sparky, his best friend since 3rd grade. 

Falling onto the carpet, he grasped the sides of his shirt and shook violently with sobs and hitched breaths. Sparky was innocent, he didn’t do anything to deserve it. He should’ve let him out to go pee, he should’ve fed him, he shouldn’t have been drunk for an entire month. It was  _ his fault. _

-

Stan genuinely didn’t think he deserved to live anymore.

He gave himself a moment to cry and hate himself before gathering his feelings and standing back up.  _ He  _ didn’t deserve to live, but there was one person who did, and that was Sparky. Sparky was dead, but he did deserve a proper burial if he couldn’t live the life he deserved. 

Flies buzzed around Sparky’s decaying corpse. Stan could see maggots wriggling amongst his flesh, which was the final straw for him. He turned around, bent over, and puked on the shag carpet.

Running back downstairs, he grabbed a trash bag and a pair of gloves, deciding that even if he did need a shower, he didn’t want to touch his rotting dead dog with his bare hands. Stan went back upstairs and did his best to get Sparky’s rotting carcass into the trash bag without puking all over him. Once Sparky was in the bag, he tied it up and went back downstairs. He would deal with the puke later.

Stan stepped outside for the first time in a solid month. The sun had already gone down, which made it a little hard for him to fumble around in the shed while trying to find a shovel, but he managed to do it anyway. He dropped the trash bag next to his back porch and started digging Sparky’s grave, right next to an old oak tree. It took a while, but once he was finished, he went back for the trash bag and dropped it into the hole, covering it back up with dirt. That took care of one problem… but there were so many more in that stupid fucking house. If it were Stan’s choice, he would never go back in there again. 

It wasn’t up to him, though.

He went back upstairs, cleaning up his own vomit, Sparky’s piss and feces, and finally dumping out the moldy coffee from the coffee pot he tried to drink out of earlier. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Stan decided that the coffee pot couldn’t be saved- even if he washed it out and cleaned it with bleach, he would be reminded of the blue spores that used to remain every time he went to pour himself a cup.

He threw it in the kitchen trash can. Stan tied the trash bag up, opened the back door, and left it there, hoping it would help with the flies and gnats.

Stan took his gloves off and threw them on the floor, before laying down on the couch and falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Something was inside his skull.

No. Some _one_ was inside his _house,_ trying to get out, and making a lot of noise. Stan sat up, agitated, rubbing his eyes and looking around frantically. The noise continued, evolving from small taps to loud banging. What the fuck?

He stood up from the couch and stared down at his jeans, which were now a little loose around his thighs. Sitting on his ass for five weeks straight didn’t do him any favors in retaining body fat. Stan knew he needed a belt, but he wasn’t concerned about that now. He wanted to stop the noise.

Stan stood in front of the entryway, facing the front door. Nobody was inside his house except for him. Someone was outside, trying to get in. He blinked a few times, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to get a grasp on reality. Yes, someone was coming to talk to him. Maybe it was the electricity company coming to see if he was dead or had abandoned his house.

Stan opened the door.

Kyle Broflovski stood on the doorstep, just as attractive and lively as Stan remembered, holding something large and rectangular in his hands. “Stan?” he spoke, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer. “You look like shit.”

 _Wait until you see the rest of the house,_ Stan thought pessimistically. Kyle didn’t feel real to him- nothing did anymore. Why was he here? Why did he care? “Yeah,” Stan slurred. “Guess I do.” He certainly _felt_ like shit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he stood in front of a mirror.

“This-” Kyle said, pushing past Stan. He entered the living room, only to see how immaculately filthy the entire house was. “Did you have a party last night?” he asked, turning around. Stan only now realized that what Kyle had in his hands was a cake.

A birthday cake.

“No.”

" _Fuck_ ," Kyle whispered, hurriedly setting the cake down on the kitchen counter. “Get in the car.”

Stan blinked. “What?”

“Get in the fucking car, dude. Get in my car. Outside. Go!”

He blinked, unsure why Kyle was so upset. Stan left through the front door and opened the passenger’s side door, sitting down in Kyle’s Nissan as he was told. The light beige floorboards were pristine, and suddenly, Stan realized how bad the rest of his house was in contrast. He knew it needed some cleaning, but at this point, maybe it was better for everyone if he just burnt the house down and started all over again.

A few minutes later, Kyle came back out of the house, the cake in hand. He set it in the backseat and dropped Stan’s phone and charger in his lap. “Call your mom, your dad, and Shelly. Tell them that you’re with me.”

“What?”

“Fucking _do it!_ It’s not that hard, just say, ‘hey guys, I’m with Kyle,’ alright?!”

Nodding, Stan picked up his phone and typed out what Kyle told him to, listening to the comfortable hum of the car as the engine turned on. Kyle started driving. Stan wasn’t sure where he was going, but he trusted Kyle enough not to question him.

None of his family members responded to his messages, which made Stan think that maybe none of them cared to begin with and Kyle was doing it to prove a point.

Stan set his phone down on his lap, turning to look at Kyle. He was always beautiful, in Stan’s opinion, even through elementary and middle school- Stan had a soft spot for those freckles and his curly hair.

Plus, Kyle just _knew_ exactly what to do when things went wrong. He was smart, and he was gorgeous. Out of Stan’s league, definitely, which was why he settled for Wendy.

Stan looked back at the road. No, he didn’t _settle_ for Wendy, because Wendy was out of his league too.

He let his eyes close, his head resting against the back of the seat. Stan slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Stan woke up in someone’s living room on the couch, his skin feeling unnaturally tight and clean. He sat up, looking around. The overhead light was on- which was too bright for him, causing him to squint and shield his eyes with his hand. 

He was also wearing different clothes, which were clean too. One good thing about the situation, though… he felt better. His shoulders felt lighter, and honestly, he was thankful to be away from all of that filth and the place where he had left Sparky and his own marriage to die. Stan knew that he had to return to his house eventually, but getting away while he could was nice anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Stan. Good morning,” Kyle spoke from somewhere behind him. Kyle was sitting at the table in the dining room, surrounded by heaps and heaps of textbooks and papers. Stan almost forgot that Kyle was still in college. “Um. Are you hungry?”

There was a dull pain in Stan’s chest. He was definitely hungry, but too afraid to eat. “Did you…” he spoke, blinking. Kyle had given him a bath, hadn’t he? God, that was fucking embarrassing. Stan wasn’t able to  _ bathe himself.  _ He felt humiliated, almost. But he knew not to blame Kyle- he was just doing his best, helping him the only way he knew how.

How did Kyle manage to run a bath, get him out of his current clothes, wash him, and get him back into them without waking him up, though? Stan was naturally a deep sleeper, but movement woke him up. Usually. “You gave me a bath?” he asked, staring up at him. There really was no other way to put it.

Kyle nodded. “You needed it. You feel any better? I would’ve let you take a shower yourself, but I was worried you might act how you did in middle school if you woke up.”

Ah, yes. Middle school, when he laid in bed for three weeks straight and pissed in a jug next to his bed. Kyle had to bring him food that month, or else he wouldn’t eat. Stan chewed the inside of his mouth, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. They were smooth. Kyle had really taken the time to give him, a twenty-two year old man, a bath, and brush his teeth along with it. “I do. I feel better. Thanks…”

“Of course. Stan, uh… you really need to get in therapy. I would talk to you, of course, but I think… having a therapist outside of everything would help more, don’t you?” Kyle asked, dropping the pencil he was holding and letting it roll into the seam of his notebook. 

He sat up straighter on the couch. Therapy was an obvious step, but could he  _ really  _ redeem himself after everything that happened? Could he  _ really  _ get better? He had let an innocent being, a small, helpless creature, die on his own accord- his lifelong friend, second to only Kyle himself. His marriage was destroyed. Stan wasn’t sure he could find anyone again- of course, there was Kyle, but Kyle didn’t love him back.

He knew love wasn’t the purpose of life, but it really started to feel like it after Wendy left him.

Kyle frowned. “You don’t have to say yes right now. I’ll give you some time to, like… collect yourself, okay? But whatever you want to do, I’ll help you with it.”

He bit his lip, holding back tears. Kyle was just so  _ nice  _ to him, and why? Because he got divorced after months of neglecting his wife and obsessive drinking? Or was it because Kyle felt bad for him?

“You’re only being nice because…” Stan spoke, cutting himself off. Kyle wasn’t being nice out of pity. He had landed himself in plenty of different shitshows in high school, and not once had Kyle got him out of those because he felt bad for him. 

Kyle stood up. “Don’t start with that hating yourself shit. I know you hate yourself. I’m being nice because I love you, and we’re friends, and if I ever got divorced and nearly drunk myself to death, I would want you to do the same for me too. I’m gonna call a couple veterinary clinics in the city tomorrow morning, I’ll see if any of them will hire you. You don’t have to start working right away, but it might get you feeling normal again.”

“How do I make it up to you?” Stan asked.

He sat down next to Stan. “You can make it up to me by doing what I tell you to.”

“...Okay.” He really didn’t want to- Stan knew most of what Kyle cared about was getting him off his ass and back into ‘society,’ but he would much rather hole himself up and ignore everybody. Still, it was the least he could do in return.

“Lay down.”

Stan started to lay down, although Kyle was sitting next to him on the couch which meant he didn’t have very much room to spread out. Instead, he leaned against the arm of the couch, pulling the blanket higher over his chest, wondering what Kyle wanted.

Kyle leaned forward and took the remote from the coffee table, turning the TV on. He flipped to a seemingly random channel. “Are you hungry, Stan?” Kyle asked again.

“I might puke if I eat,” he answered honestly.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke, leaning back against the couch. “I could give you an anti-nausea pill.”

Stan stared at him, nodding. Kyle stood up and went to the bathroom, then back to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He dropped a small pill on the coffee table in front of Stan and set the glass down. “Here. Tell me when you get hungry,” Kyle said back. 

He leaned forward and swallowed the pills with water, setting the glass back down and laying how Kyle told him to.

Kyle moved closer to Stan and wrapped his arms around him.

Stan stared at the TV, thankful, yet confused as to why Kyle was cuddling him. “What are we doing, dude?”

“Want me to move?”

“I don’t know. Not.. really?”

Kyle let his head rest on Stan’s shoulder. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t complain.”

Stan stared at the TV, not retaining any information from the show they were watching. In a way, he felt like he was back in middle or high school, whenever he would have a depressive episode and Kyle would take care of him.

Kyle was always there for him, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Kyle spent the next few days listening to Stan talk about how his marriage ended with Wendy, talking through his feelings, and reminding him to do basic things like sleep and eat. Stan spent most of his time sitting on the couch, watching TV or staring at Kyle as he studied, and honestly? It was concerning. He knew Stan wouldn’t go back to “normal” or start functioning like anyone else, but he was concerned that there was something more he needed to do to help him.

He knew that Stan’s divorce and alcoholism wasn’t his fault. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

A week had passed since Stan’s birthday. He agreed to start going to therapy, which was a relief for Kyle- Stan wasn’t a  _ burden,  _ but he couldn’t stand having him sit around and watch his every move like a lost puppy. It was as if he were begging for something, or unsure of what to do.

Stan used the Denver Public Transportation bus, which made life easier for Kyle, who had classes and work every weekday. On the weekends, while Stan was asleep, Kyle would take his house key and a box of trash bags and gloves and go back to his house. It had to be done. The longer the moldy food, the beer cans, and the house itself stood without caretaking, the worse it would get. Kyle wasn’t sure if Stan would ever return to it. He would understand if he found it too painful, considering that was where his and Wendy’s marriage started to collapse, but leaving it there to grow dilapidated wasn’t helping anyone. Either Stan would move back in, or it would be sold, and the money could help Stan get back on his feet.

After cleaning, Kyle would throw the trash bags away and return home, shower, change, and lay down in his bed next to Stan. They started sleeping in the same bed without discussion- something they did as teenagers, and something that neither of them found to be weird, even considering their age. 

Stan had known that Kyle was gay since 8th grade, but thankfully had no problem with it. Kyle always had his own suspicions about Stan, but never talked about them.

“Hey, Kyle,” Stan spoke, turning on his side. “I can’t sleep.”

“Oh.” He adjusted his arm underneath the pillow. Was he going to ask where he went?

“Yeah. You smell good, dude.”

Kyle frowned, trying to remember what time Stan went to bed yesterday. He couldn’t. “Took a shower. Do you want to talk about your therapist until you get tired? What’s he like?”

“...He’s fine. He doesn’t really  _ do  _ anything, you know? He just listens to what I say, and he’s like, ‘yeah, your life sucks, but at least you have a friend who’s helping.’ And that’s it. It’s dumb.”

He nodded. “Maybe you need a psychiatrist then. Or a different therapist. You stopped taking your meds, right? When Wendy divorced you?”

“I-” Stan started, looking away, probably trying to remember. “I stopped taking them after we got married.”

“Oh.” It didn’t really make sense- his first year with Wendy went pretty smoothly. Everything turned worse after his 21st birthday, when he didn’t have to illegally smuggle alcohol or steal it from his parents like he did in high school. Kyle guessed that was because he didn’t drink in moderation after that. “You need to get back on them. A psychiatrist would put you on them again.”

Stan nodded, turning around and facing the other side of the bedroom. “I think it will too.”

Kyle nodded back, although Stan couldn’t see it. He stared at the back of Stan’s head, letting his eyes droop shut.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah?” he asked, blinking. “You can tell me anything.”

Stan turned over again, making eye contact with him. “I don’t miss her. Not really. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“That’s okay, Stan,” Kyle whispered. Part of him was surprised that he didn’t miss Wendy- he  _ had  _ to love her to marry her, right? But another part of him wasn’t surprised. There was always something up with Stan, even when him and Wendy were together in middle school. It was never  _ just  _ her that was upsetting him. There was another layer. “You don’t need to know. I can get you help.”

Stan closed his eyes, and without speaking, moved closer to Kyle. “Thanks.”

“Of course, dude.” Once again, Kyle was flooded with the ever-present feeling of nostalgia- reminded of the times the two of them spent laying in bed together in high school, sleeping over or taking breaks when they studied for finals, sharing a set of wired earbuds and listening to the emo bands that Stan used to be obsessed with. He smiled. Kyle could even remember some of the names- Stan’s all-time favorite was My Chemical Romance, although he remembered Stan being embarrassed to admit that to his group of goth friends, because they considered My Chemical Romance to be a conformist band due to its popularity. Even some of the students who weren’t emo listened to them. Like Craig and Red.

Memories.

“You’re better than Wendy. Wendy didn’t even try to help me when I was drinking. She just… yelled, she thought making me feel like shit would help,” Stan whispered, his voice low and slurred from sleepiness. “But you’re helping.”

“I am.”

He smiled, eyes still closed. “You are.”

Stan dozed off first, and after an unprecedented amount of time spent staring at him, Kyle fell asleep too.


	5. Chapter 5

Kyle stood in front of the boiling stove, wiping his forehead with a rag and throwing it across the counter. He checked his phone for the time- 7:08 PM. Stan should’ve been home by now.

He shook his head and turned the burner knobs down, turning around to look at the front door, a hand on his hip. Maybe the bus was running off-schedule, or his session with his new psychiatrist was running late, or Stan went back home to get something. Not like he  _ needed  _ anything- Stan lost so much weight that he could fit into all of Kyle’s clothes, and he had his phone and charger. Kyle bought him a toothbrush and toothpaste. They’d been living together for two months now, surely, if Stan needed something, he wouldn’t be too shy to ask.

“Ugh,” Kyle said to no one in particular, turning back around to tend to the stove. He had made pierogies and broccoli, with bread rolls rising in the oven. Considering that Stan’s therapy appointment ended at 6:30, Kyle had the sense he wouldn’t be home in time to eat. He pulled the pan out of the oven and started to put the broccoli in a separate bowl.

The front door opened. “Hey. Uh, hi, Kyle. Sorry.”

Setting the frying pan down, Kyle turned around to look at him, and noticed that he had been crying. “Oh. Hey- shit, dude, are you okay?” Kyle asked, stepping closer to smother him in a hug. Stan was obviously not okay, but he wanted to know what was up.

“I’m good. Um…” Stan said, sniffling and returning the hug. “Sorry. My psychiatrist said I had to tell you something.”

Kyle pulled away. “Is it bad? Did you start drinking again?”

“No. I didn’t start drinking.” He looked down and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Uh. I killed Sparky.”

“What?”

“I killed him,” Stan admitted. “I found his… uh, his corpse the day before you visited and I cleaned everything up and buried him… I left the blanket he died on there, though, I guess I forgot. I stopped feeding him, Kyle. I fucking  _ starved  _ him. For no reason,” Stan said, the words bringing another round of tears to his eyes. He covered his face with his sleeves and sobbed. “Shit, shit. Sorry.”

Kyle stared at him, too baffled to say anything. He could never imagine Stan killing Sparky. “On purpose?”

“No! Not on-” he choked, getting cut off by a sob. “No. But I still did it,” Stan said between sniffles. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kyle whispered, putting his hands on Stan’s shoulders. He massaged them, hoping to calm him. “You didn’t mean it. You had an addiction, you don’t need to blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”

Stan shook his head wildly, refusing to take his arms away from his face. “It  _ is!  _ I killed him, Kyle!”

He enveloped Stan in another hug, resting his chin on Stan’s shoulder as he did so. Stan continued to sob, eventually giving in and hugging back, pressing his head against Kyle as he started to cry harder. Kyle’s arms moved down to massage Stan’s upper back. He already said everything he could to comfort him, but went on anyway, knowing he needed more words of affirmation. “Sparky still loves you. He does. He doesn’t blame you for anything that happened, I promise. It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered.

A few minutes later the tears stopped coming, and Stan stood back up straight, looking over at the stove. “Oh, god, Kyle. I didn’t know you were cooking. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry for ruining-”

Kyle shushed him. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s probably still hot if you’re hungry, okay? Don’t apologize for crying. You can’t control that.”

“Okay,” Stan nodded, his voice still shaky as he wiped his eyes again. “Okay.”

“Do you feel better after getting it all out?”

“Yeah. I do,” Stan said. “I don’t know if I’m hungry. Sorry. I’ll eat leftovers if you save them, though…”

Kyle moved to the oven and started making Stan a plate. “You haven’t eaten anything since 1 PM today, even if you aren’t hungry you need to eat something. Come on, we can watch a movie or something to take your mind off of it.” He turned to look at him. “Please? Eat a little. For me.”

“For you. Okay. Fine.” Stan moved forward and took the plate from Kyle, watching as he got his own plate and started putting broccoli on it. “I’ll start going to work again. If you want me to.”

“Of course I want you to. It gives you something to care about,” Kyle said, putting a fork on his plate and leaving the kitchen. The two of them sat down in the living room, and Stan searched for something to watch on Netflix as Kyle started to eat, starting with the broccoli. “I have something to tell you, too.”

Stan settled on something and turned it on, setting the remote down. “What?”

“I told your mom that you were doing better, and she basically… invited herself to my house. Next Monday you’re gonna have to deal with her. So prepare yourself.”

He frowned, taking a bite of his dinner roll to appease Kyle. “God. I don’t know why she cares.” The movie played in front of them, but they might as well have sat down at the dining room table, because neither of them were paying attention to it.

“You don’t know why she cares? I’ll tell you why. She birthed you. And she loves you, and she’s worried about you,” Kyle scolded, shaking his head. 

“But I’m fine. She doesn’t need to come down and check on me.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Nobody checked on you for two months and look what happened.”

“...Fuck. I’m just saying, why can’t she call?”

“You know how relatives are. Can you just eat now? We’ll talk about this later, I’m sure she won’t stay for very long.”

“I fucking  _ hope _ she doesn’t,” Stan muttered, taking another bite of his food.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slowing updates for all of my fics down to once a week, sorry! it might be even less than that because of online school, family & exercise so hang tight

Like all relatives, Sharon came to Kyle’s house, overstayed her welcome, talked way too much, gave them too much physical contact, and ultimately ended up wearing Stan and Kyle out by the time she decided to leave. Of course, it was only for a day and a night- she took the guest bedroom while Stan and Kyle slept in the same bed together. Sharon found it endearing, yet odd.

“Aw, honey. I can sleep on the couch, if you want to take the guest bedroom,” she said, running into Stan after he finished up in the bathroom.

He stared at her. “No, Mom. I sleep with Kyle. The couch would be bad for your back anyway.” Both of them knew that Sharon was old and would start having health problems soon enough. She didn’t have a full head of gray hair just yet, but at the age of fifty, she knew to expect it.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Sharon spoke, looking away and going silent until Stan started to go to the bedroom. “Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“Like how?”

Sharon frowned. “Well, you know, you boys aren’t teenagers anymore. And Kyle told you that he was gay.”

“He’s not a rapist, Mom. Jeez.”

“Well- I know that!” she scolded him. “It’s just unorthodox. Unless you two are together, which I take it you’re not. I don’t have anything against it, Stanley, I’m just pointing it out.”

Stan nodded. “Good,” he spoke, dismissing her and stepping into Kyle’s bedroom.

Kyle was already in bed, smiling at him. “She thinks you’re gay now?”

“Yep,” Stan mumbled, slipping his house shoes off and turning the lamp on his nightstand off. “Old people, huh?”

“She’s not that old. And us sleeping together is a little weird. Especially considering there  _ was  _ an empty guest bedroom- until she came over. So.. she has a point.”

Stan didn’t really want to admit that he liked sleeping next to Kyle. It was comforting, knowing that someone was there for him if he started having thoughts or just needed someone to hold. “Do you want me to start sleeping in there when she leaves?”

Kyle only shrugged and turned his lamp off too. “I’m only saying that maybe she’s right.”

“But you don’t like having me around you, do you?”

“What, dude?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I like having you around?”

“Because I’m.. me?”

Kyle scoffed and laid down properly, pulling the blanket up to his neck. “You don’t drink anymore, you’re trying to get better, you help around the house, you’re funny, and I like having company even if I’m pretty much gone all day. You are the  _ only  _ person I talk to outside of work and college.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah? Do you see anybody around the house when you’re awake?” Kyle asked, sounding angry at first, but Stan was relieved when he let out a snicker. “Dude, I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“But don’t you want a boyfriend one day?”

Kyle shrugged, watching as Stan sunk down in the bed next to him. “If I wanted to hook up with random people, I would be doing that. Having you here wouldn’t stop me.”

“Right. So you’re never gonna date anyone?”

“I’m not interested in that stuff. I mean, if it happened, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. But I’m not gonna go out looking for guys to fuck, you know?”

“Right,” Stan repeated. “That makes sense.” It didn’t. Kyle was attractive, he had a steady job and a house… so why didn’t he want a boyfriend?

Kyle scooted closer to him. “What about you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you’re probably.. I mean, you just got divorced. So I can understand if you wouldn’t want to date anyone immediately after.”

Stan looked away. “I told you, though. I don’t miss her. I just, like… wish I could have something like that again. I don’t think it was her personality.”

“Like what?”

Stan shrugged. “We just.. loved each other? And like, before I started drinking, everything was really good. And stable. We were even trying for a baby, it- things were good.”

“Well, if you don’t miss  _ her,  _ you can have that with anyone else.”

“I know.” Stan turned on his side. “Can I live with you? For, like, a while? I don’t want to live in that house, or live in an apartment by myself, I’d go insane.”

Kyle nodded slowly. “Well, isn’t that what we’re doing? But yeah, duh, you can stay here… nobody can keep you off of alcohol if you live alone.”

“Okay. Okay,” Stan repeated to himself. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Stan closed his eyes and fixed his arm underneath the pillow. He tried to keep his mind off of sensitive topics, which worked for a while. When it stopped working, he thought about Kyle- something his psychiatrist advised him to do. Think about things that made him happy.

An arm curled around his waist, helping him drift off faster. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Stan,” Kyle whispered, shaking him gently. “Hey. Hey, you need to get up, okay?”

Groggily, he opened his eyes and got to his feet, confused. Kyle never woke him up. For his therapy appointments and AA meetings, he always set alarms. Today though, he didn’t have anything to do. “What?” Stan whispered, his voice scratchy. Stan cleared his throat.

“Do you feel like going anywhere today?”

“What time is it?” Stan asked, turning to look at the clock. It was 11 AM. “I mean, is there something you n-”

Kyle stood in front of the closet, pulling out clothes for Stan to change into. “Yeah. And you need to come with me,” he said, smiling now. “Come on. Get dressed. And remember to take your meds before we leave, okay?”

Stan took a shower and got dressed, taking his medicine and brushing his teeth afterwards. The clothes that Kyle picked out for him weren’t exactly formal, which he was thankful for- now he knew that he wouldn’t be going to a fancy restaurant or someone’s wedding. If it were something as important as that, though, he knew Kyle would tell him in advance. 

“Ready?” Kyle asked, pocketing his car keys. “You got your phone?”

_ He’s bringing me back to my house. Kyle doesn’t want me around anymore,  _ Stan thought to himself. He knew that wasn’t true- Kyle wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about dumping him back in his own house. He would ease him into the idea and promise to visit or something like that. “I do.”

“Let’s go.” They left the house and got into the car, the cold, November air whipping around them and sending leaves flying down the street. Christmas was just around the corner, and as Kyle drove, Stan found himself brainstorming a list of Christmas presents for him in advance. Even if Kyle did end up kicking him out of his house at some point, they were still friends, and Kyle had helped him in his time of need. He needed to thank him somehow, gift form or otherwise.

As they drove, Stan was relieved to find that Kyle drove right past his neighborhood. But that only piqued his curiosity. Where the hell were they going, if Kyle wasn’t bringing him back to his house?

Stan stared out of the window, lost in his own thoughts as they left the suburbs, now in the city. Kyle pulled into a parking lot, putting the car in park and turning the engine off. “We’re here.”

He looked up at the building.  _ Denver County Animal Shelter.  _ “Wait, Kyle..”

“What? Since Sparky died, I figured it would be nice to have a new pet.”

“Kyle, I don’t want one.”

Kyle turned to face him. “And why not?”

“...I just don’t.”

“But it won’t just be your responsibility. It’ll be my pet too. We can even get something small, like a ferret or hamster or something if they have one, okay? Or fish. Cats are more independent, if we get one, you won’t have to walk it and it’ll be okay if you don’t let it out. Come on.”

Stan shook his head. “I don’t want it to end up like Sparky, Kyle. I’m sorry.”

“Fine. Then it’s my cat or dog or whatever, and I want you to help me pick it out.”

...He couldn’t really argue with that. It was Kyle’s house, and if he wanted a pet, he would get one. “Okay. Fine, I’ll help you.”

Grinning, Kyle got out of the car and slammed the door. Stan followed him, entering the animal shelter, immediately overwhelmed with the huge variety of animals. They even had  _ birds  _ for adoption- not that Stan wanted to actually get one, but couldn’t they just… release the birds, instead of keeping them in a shelter?

“So, what are you thinking?” Kyle asked, walking along the aisles and aisles of cages. “Big dog or small dog?”

“I thought this was your pet,” Stan pointed out, but immediately after speaking, spotted a dog that he wanted. “Um, big dog, though.”

Kyle followed his gaze. “A golden retriever?”

“He’s cute…” he said, crouching down to look at the dog. “Awe.”

“I told you that you’d want one,” Kyle teased, shoving him. “We can get him. Her? I don’t know. What do you want to name it?”

“Harlow,” Stan spoke, pressing his fingers through the openings in the cage. The dog had its tongue stuck out, panting gently. It leaned forward and licked Stan’s fingers, making him laugh. “I love him.”

Kyle crouched down next to him. A worker came over to talk to them, assuring them that she was a girl, and that they could adopt her today if they filled out the paperwork. Kyle stared at Stan, prompting him to answer. “That’s- that’s… good! Uh, we’ll take her.”

The two of them filled out the paperwork, and Kyle ended up paying for the adoption fees, despite Stan’s arguing, and once she was out of the cage, she fell in love with them.

Harlow circled around both of their legs, rubbing her head up against the back of Stan’s calf and licking the side of his jeans. They had no problem getting her into the car. Stan sat in the backseat with her on the way home, petting her and ruffling her fur. Eventually, she got overwhelmed from all of the excitement and let her chin rest on Stan’s inner thigh. Stan stared down at her with a smile. “Thank you, Kyle.”

“Of course,” Kyle spoke from the front seat. “I’ve always wanted a pet, but never had a reason to get one, y’know?”

“That is a reason,” he pointed out. 

Stan could see Kyle smiling from the rearview mirror. “You know what I mean. Oh, yeah. I have something else to tell you.”

“Hm?”

“I cleaned out your house.” Stan’s heart dropped in his chest. So this was about the house, after all?

No… that wasn’t true. Kyle wouldn’t adopt a dog for the both of them just so he could kick him out. So why was he bringing it up?

“...We could sell it, if you want. Put it in the bank, you can buy a new house if you ever want to move out, or if you want to stay with me, we can use it for something else…”

“Kyle, what if I never find anyone?” Stan blurted out. He considered taking it back, but knew that would bring more attention to the issue instead.

“You will.”

Stan shook his head, looking down at Harlow. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from. But I mean it. Like.. I don’t know, I just don’t see it happening.”

“Why not?” Kyle asked, tapping his thumbs on the driving wheel.

He shrugged. “Who would put up with me? Or even like me, besides Wendy?”

“Dude. Relationships are all about putting up with each other. Until you die, or divorce. You know I had a huge crush on you in high school, right?”

“What?” Stan asked, leaning forward between the seats. “You did? Since when?”

“...Well, I don’t know  _ exactly  _ when, but I know it was like… elementary school. You’ll find someone, dude, people thought you were really hot in high school, remember?”

Stan blinked, glancing out of the window as Kyle pulled into their neighborhood. “When did you stop liking me?”

“Dude. Why do you care so much?”

“Because? How did I go all of that time without even knowing?”

Kyle shrugged. “You’re like that sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He inhaled. “You’re oblivious. That’s what it means.” Kyle pulled into the driveway and stopped the car, getting out of the front seat. He opened Stan’s door to let the dog out, smiling when she stood up and put her paws up against his chest.

“When did you stop liking me though?” Stan asked again, getting out of the car.

Kyle slammed the door shut. “Why do you care so much? It was-”

“Why are you avoiding the question?”

Kyle met his eyes, giving him a warning look. “I don’t understand why you need to know.”

“I don’t  _ need  _ to know, I’m just- curious. Come on, Kyle, it’s not even that big of a deal,” he said as Kyle started to walk back to the house. Of course he had said something wrong, or pissed him off- but if Kyle liked him in high school, wasn’t there still a chance that he liked him now?

He had no choice but to follow him inside, so that’s what he did, the dog trailing behind him as he entered the house. “Kyle. I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to know,” he called out.

Kyle came out from their shared bedroom. He had taken his jacket off. “You want to know why it’s a big deal to me?”

“...Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever stopped. That’s why,” Kyle explained, his face emotionless. “Happy? Now that you know?”

Stan’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you still do?” That would explain a  _ lot _ \- why he had seemingly no problem with not sleeping around or dating any other guys, why he didn’t care if him and Stan ended up living together for a long time. God, Kyle was right. He was super oblivious.

Harlow nudged up against his leg again. He ignored it. “Damn, Kyle. Uh. I liked you too. In high school. I was- I mean, I  _ did,  _ but I kind of pushed it away- er, like, deeper down. Does that make sense?” he tried to explain.

Kyle nodded, crossing his arms. “Seems like something you would do.”

“So, you do? Uh, you still like me, right?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

Stan paused. “Yeah, but-”

“Look, dude. If you don’t, we can pretend it never happened. It’s cool.” He let his arms drop back to his sides. “I’m serious.”

“Okay, but I like you.” Kyle stared at him, almost as if he didn’t believe him. “Well, I’m- pretty sure I do! After all of the shit that happened with Wendy, I’d still date you, so that- yeah. I like you, dude.”

Kyle stepped closer to him, smiling. “For real?”

“For real.”

Kyle bit his lip and broke eye contact, staring down at the dog as she sniffed the furniture. “Do you want to take it slow? Until you know what you want?”

“I never said I didn’t know what I wanted. I was just going through a lot. But I don’t love Wendy anymore, and I’m not drinking, and I-  _ feel  _ better, so..?”

“Okay. Then um… will you be my boyfriend?”

Stan could tell that Kyle felt stupid for asking. The way he asked was a little underwhelming, but it was kind of hard to build up tension when he already knew that Kyle liked him. He smiled. “Yeah. I will.”

Kyle smiled back, extending his arms and wrapping them around Stan. “Can’t believe we both still like each other,” he said into Stan’s shoulder, voice muffled. “From  _ high school.” _

“I’m glad you still do, though,” Stan spoke honestly. Looking back at his years before college, he started to realize that he loved Kyle  _ way more  _ than he liked Wendy back then, but repressed them so much that it seemed like it wasn’t a problem.

Kyle glanced at the dog again. “Dude. Shit.”

“What?”

“We need dog food,” Kyle said, letting out a small laugh. “Okay, I’m going to the store. You want to come with?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoo sorry if this ended abruptly but i wasn't sure what else to do with this fic plot wise and i didn't want it to get repetitive so i decided to end it, i hope you enjoyed lmao


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